


Uncivil Union

by frogfarm



Series: Buffy Etcetera: (Shorts) By Request [22]
Category: Firefly
Genre: Community: femslash_minis, Companions, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2019-01-30 06:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12648393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: Trapped in close quarters, Saffron's resentment won't slow her down.Post-"Our Mrs. Reynolds".





	Uncivil Union

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brutti_ma_buoni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutti_ma_buoni/gifts).



> For Round 56 of femslash_minis.
> 
> Requested: Show me what you got, flickers, very competent space piloting

The one who got away is not a role model, any more than you. The only difference is the inscrutable, undefinable, infuriating way she carries herself. That she is here now, with you, is merely an inconvenient coincidence. You watch her hands on the controls like a lover's caress and sneer to yourself how soft.

"Because I didn't kill him?" Even her snort is delicate, ladylike. Separated from ship and crew alike, the ambassador to Serenity continues to exemplify her name. You know she ought expect no reply.

Her lips stay pressed in a line and her bosom heaves as she enters the debris field, cutting the engines to drift along with the flow. That you have made it this far unscathed is testament to her piloting skill, another galling source of her admitted superiority. The ship will need to remain at this location a minimum of seventy-two hours. At least one of you should make the best of it.

She undoes the seat strap with a wince, rubbing at the raw line runing from chest to shoulder. "You did come more appropriately dressed for the occasion."

A cutting remark is what she expects. Words that wound with the precision of a surgeon's blade. Unsurprising your cruelty is more than second nature, the only thing left to refuse her the satisfaction.

Unfortunately she responds to the silent treatment with equal aplomb, bound and determined to play the Buddha to the hilt. A vessel this size offers little room for two and no escape from each other. With privacy a lost cause, your nemesis clearly anticipates cooperation as inevitable.

The second day fails to dawn, given your location. The Companion takes to meditating for extended periods, conjuring more unpleasant memories of House training, endless hours staring down the dancing flame of a candle. You hang your jacket from the ceiling around your improvised bunk, blocking her attempt at sunlight.

"Your ride will be here soon." The amusement in her voice is a burr nestled in your flesh as you sit up, adjusting the leather top. Her next words cause you to freeze mid-shift. "May I see it?"

"You've got some nerve." The retort comes quick, without volition as you stand and grab your jacket. The Companion is still in her lotus, palms upturned.

"I'm not asking for a moon." Her lashes flutter open like butterflies, the eyes behind them dark and enormous. "We've come all this way. And I _did_ put myself and my ship at considerable risk. I would think you shouldn't begrudge me some small satisfaction of my curiosity?"

The contact is scheduled to arrive in less than eighteen hours. You remember those first frantic jostling moments, the two of you scrambling for the controls, bumping and grinding. No opportunity since for her to have applied a hidden sleeper. (You like that name so much better. Kissing is overrated.)

You draw out the smirk, along with the leather bag inside your top. Her eyebrows contract, and rise, as you pull forth its treasure.

"Bronze?"

"It is." You hold it to the light, admiring the glint of polished metal. "The last known remaining. Recovered over five hundred years ago, dating back over _two thousand_ to the Han Dynasty."

"It makes the Lassiter look downright...unimpressive." Her tiny smirk is perfect artifice or wholly genuine. Perhaps both. Suddenly, it doesn't matter that she's playing you.

"Size doesn't matter." You join her smile, finding solidarity in this false sisterhood. "Only what someone else will pay."

A look of shrewd appraisal. "I assume you have a buyer?"

"Ready and waiting on the rendezvous. He probably thinks _olisbos_ is some kind of lamb stew." Your grin fades to grim. "But he made the best offer."

"No doubt." The Companion nods. "And are you going to surrender such a unique antiquity without putting it to good use?"

And your smile returns. Because a new game is on.

"I thought you'd never ask."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Uncivil Union](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13900905) by [BabelGhoti (TheHandmadeTale)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHandmadeTale/pseuds/BabelGhoti)




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